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Name: Nolie

Years: I am 40
Nationality: Panamanian
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What is my sex: Lady
Languages: French
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You are to it, to indicate that I have explained the nature of your punishment to you, and that there are no valid reasons why you may not be disciplined this afternoon.

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Sitting there nervously, glancing at one another: trying not to show their fear. Home to Cherfield University. Well, they would know now, all right. And the third — in Castle Morton as well, but this time in Somerton Park, indeed. I studied the form, and noticed that the first two shared an address. I closed the door behind me, and pointed her to stand facing the desk. I, of course, sat down, and opened my file. I glanced down at the piece of paper in my hand. Cherfield Girls Remand Centre. They were all supposed to turn up at the same time, 2.

Which is where I fit into the equation. Baker, Miss A. Porter and Miss C. We reached the door of the punishment room, and I glanced down at the paper again. Wondering whether she knew what might be in store for them. I reached into my pocket, and selected a key, opening the wooden cupboard at the side of the room.

Her breathing was deep now — trying to keep control; trying not to give in to the ever-increasing pain. Slowly, I looked up at her: pale, shaking.

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Ready for duty, sir. Not even the offence — I guess the theory was that I was simply the disciplinarian, the one to administer the sentence that the courts had handed down. I smiled at the receptionist, then turned to look at my three customers for the afternoon. Then I opened my desk, and took out the folder with the paperwork for the punishment procedure. They should be here by now. When the new government had decided to crack down, as it were, on the misbehaviour of miscreant youths, there had been a rush of sentences under the new Judicial Punishments Act.

Under Section 34, to be precise. Most effective. She bent forward, her whole body trembling. The other thing about the first stroke, of course, was the impact it would have on those waiting on the other side of the door. Six or seven thousand of them, hundreds of miles from home, living a life of non-stop parties and drunken debauchery. I closed the door behind me, and set off down the long corridor to the reception area. An attractive girl: light brown hair, slightly built. As Senior Warden of this institution, I am an Approved Officer under the terms of the act, and as such am required to administer your punishment as laid down by the court.

I looked at them, watching them return my gaze nervously. Checked it, quickly. As an approved Officer.

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Now there was a turn-up for the books. At three in the morning. I took out the tawse and cane, laying them on the table at the back of the room. Included within the new Act so that our friends North of the Border voted for the regulations when they went through parliament.

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I paused, making sure the strokes had had their full effect, and building the tension in the room as the girl braced herself for the next blow, not sure when it would land. Do you understand the sentence, Miss Baker? Very good, I thought to myself: practice clearly does make perfect.

The punishment position that had been determined by the Act really was a most satisfactory one, I thought to myself, looking down at her. Maybe the magistrates were finally waking up to the deterrent effect of their new powers, at last. I walked to the back of the room, and picked up the black leather tawse — a nice instrument, well crafted, heavy. Low down.

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Well, if I did have three young undergraduates to deal with, that was fine by me. It was just high spirits after our exams, and we were only singing a few songs. I wondered… could it be that my three visitors were students?

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In fact, they should have been waiting for a few minutes. But even then I knew more than the intended recipients. I glanced at my watch. To the traditional Scottish de, I believe. Waste of time. When the Act came into effect at the turn of the year, there was the predictable rush of cases, my Home Office-approved tawse and cane both quickly being worn in on a succession of young ladies of ill-repute. I sipped from my glass of water.

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I laid the tawse on the desk, and called her over. With young Samantha, these were beauties, and she let out a cry of surprise as the third stroke descended. New names, for sure. All the right forms there. She lifted off her necklace, then stepped out of her shoes, undid her skirt and folded it on the chair. Funny how the judicial system could bring everyone to the same level — this educated, middle-class lass about to be dealt with in exactly the same way as some of the young tearaways who usually came my way. In the town square.

And a nice instrument for those whose behaviour did not quite merit the stick. That was good: it was no bad thing for them to be kept in suspense, contemplating. Kept worrying. And the police came and arrested us for being drunk and disorderly. Never works. Do you understand?

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And then… a beauty. Aged 20, 20 and 19 respectively. And it never failed to bring home the gravity of her predicament to the young lady concerned. Or so it seems to me. I would therefore ask you to remove your clothing and any jewellery that you may be wearing.

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You others wait outside until I call you. I looked with satisfaction at the red outline that the tawse had formed — perfectly horizontal, right across the centre of her buttocks. Presumably the logic was that if they knew it was the latter, they might never turn up….

I held the door open, and the tallest of the girls walked past me into the room. She gasped, and rocked back on her feet. Set up under some more liberal regime. An air of prosperity about her: smart clothes, tidy haircut, nice necklace. She hesitated now she was down to her knickers and bra, before these too came off. Senior Warden, to be precise. I liked to deliver the second and third strokes in quick succession, aiming them directly on top of one another, below the first mark.

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I continued. Shaking, she walked over to the chair and took off her jacket, and turning away from me unbuttoned her white blouse.

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I picked up the tawse, and moved to her left side. I wondered what they would have been doing that morning — pacing up and down, no doubt, worried sick about what might be to come. I arranged the furniture, leaving my chair behind the desk, but moving the other chairs to one side. And that was before she had even been thrashed: these middle-class lasses really were ridiculously timid.

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